


Daenerys' Advent to Solstice

by clarasimone



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Declarations Of Love, Erotica, F/M, Happy Ending, Humor, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pregnant Sex, Romantic Comedy, Some angst, Winter Solstice, advent to christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen of Bear Island.Gods, how he loved the ring of that! And with Daenerys' pregnancy, Jorah's felicity was beyond compare. The only thing slightly perplexing, and it was nothing really, was... how could he put this... the nature of his Khaleesi's appetite and special yearnings. Because, indeed, they all seemed to include... him! But since he once demanded of his Queen “Let me serve you,”  he was more than happy to oblige... in all manners. And not only because he loved Daenerys with all his heart but also because pregnancy truly, truly, became her!
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 26
Kudos: 42
Collections: A song of frosted bear kisses and dragon roasted chestnuts, Jorah and Daenerys' Garden of Erotic Delights





	Daenerys' Advent to Solstice

**Author's Note:**

> This AU tale takes place after GoT's Season 8 in which Ser Jorah Mormont survived The Battle of Winterfell and won the heart of his Queen, who then eloped with him to Bear Island, relinquishing an Iron Throne she never wanted, since her aim was to "break the wheel" and then find a home with lemon trees. I've given her just that. Of course, she already had a home in Jorah's heart. I just added the citrus.
> 
> Furthermore, this is my homage to the Advent Time before Christmas and the importance of the Winter Solstice in pagan beliefs, both incarnate, in this tale, in Daenerys' pregnancy. The perfect excuse, also, to playfully explore the importance of eroticism in all stages of life and love, including during those mysterious 9 months and a half! 
> 
> I know that some women have difficult pregnancies and I hope my rom/com, because YES it is a rom/com with a dash of angst and a big nice juicy cherry of sexiness on top, won't be construed as belittling their ordeal. But having experienced quite the opposite, I felt like gifting Daenerys and Jorah a wondrous sex life during this stage of their on-going relationship!
> 
> So... THIS IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY! LOL
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> p.s. as usual, special thanks to Lady Chryssadirewolf for the amazing moodboard, to Houseofthebear for providing an endless reserve of mistletoe in our "Jorah and Daenerys' Garden of Erotic Delights" and to Sanziene for including this tale in our Wintery Jorleesi collection "A Song of Frosted Bear Kisses and Dragon Roasted Chestnuts."

****

**Daenerys’ Advent to Solstice**

“Gods! Daenerys, my love… mercy!”

Jorah couldn’t help laughing softly, trying to catch his breath, a sheen of luscious sweat covering his golden hairy chest and tight abdomen. His hands were still on Daenerys’ hips, as she was straddling him, but his heart was pounding so, it felt like it was going to burst through his taut pectorals.

“You’ll be the death of me, Khaleesi.”

“But Jorah… my honey-bunny bear…”

Oh no, no-no-no… but yes, Daenerys was kissing him again, and her body was already coaxing his hardness back to life. And, of course, Jorah’s manhood responded. _There it stood_ , even if its owner was pleading mercy.

_Oh dear…_

_Possibly, one should pause here and explain._

Daenerys had always shown herself to be an erotic force to be reckoned with… which, if truth be told, suited Jorah just fine because he had pinned so long for her that a life-time of lovemaking would possibly never be enough to extinguish the desire that had always burned bright in him for the love of his life. He gave thanks every day for the love and want she had come to let herself feel for him. It made Jorah willingly and happily bend the knee to the carnal knowledge she held over him.

From across the Great Hall of their Keep on Bear Island, Daenerys could simply look at Jorah a certain way, and he would find himself blushingly “stand on guard,” and then have to cut short the morning audiences they held there with their subjects. When it wasn’t Daenerys’ eyes mesmerizing him, it was a simple caress, her hand brushing his at a luncheon, or the way she’d wet her lips turning her luminous face to falling snow flakes, or… or the way she’d bat her lashes at him when they’d walk in their winter gardens. Their help could be hard at work then, tending to the exotic trees that grew in their dragon heated conservatory, and it wouldn’t matter, Jorah’s body and soul would find themselves enraptured. The bear that he was, deep, deep down would resurface, and he’d shoo everyone in sight, because he simply had to have her _now_. Which is, of course, what _she_ wanted, _she_ had orchestrated, and which _her_ glorious moans of pleasure would tell him. Yes, that is exactly what Jorah understood of his beautiful Khaleesi, abandoning herself to pleasure in his arms, on the day bed under the canopy of her lemon trees.

 _Daenerys Targaryen of Bear Island._ Gods, how he loved the ring of that! And, what had he done to deserve such a Goddess by his side? A rhetorical question given the way his Queen looked at him and cherished him. Even with all the scars and years on his body. Who needed explanations when her body would search his during the night and, finding it, ignited its owner so, you’d think Jorah’s own feral hunger had rubbed off on his beautiful wife. Deliciously.

And yet, this was nothing.

_Oh, you’ve read that right._

_This_ was _before_ Daenerys got pregnant. But ever since that blessed event, which filled them with such joy, and made Jorah, truly, the proudest of man, well… Daenerys had simply become insatiable! Ergo this morning’s pouting plea: “But Jorah… my honey-bunny bear…” A nickname that completely disarmed its recipient.

Jorah had once demanded of his Queen “Let me serve you,” so… what was a Knight to do? He was more than happy to oblige, in just this manner.

Furthermore, was he truly begging for mercy? Of course not. And not only because he loved Daenerys with all his heart but also because, well, pregnancy truly became her.

There was no morning sickness, and Daenerys seemed to thrive on each new development, each new change in her body and spirit, as if relishing becoming, for a little while at least, the merging of who she was with what it meant to become the vessel for bringing a new life into this world. She was radiant with the changes. Of course, Jorah was impossibly partial. Daenerys could have been covered in mud and dressed like a peasant and he would have deemed her “radiant” – and come to think of it, he had seen her so, and had felt compelled to ravish her in the hay because “she was irresistible, and how dare she taunt him looking like that,” making his Queen laugh before cooing with pleasure… But, regardless, her husband was right. Daenerys was indeed radiant: one simply had to look at their male visitors tripping over each other in her presence, not only eager to find her a seat or bring her a goblet of water but fawning over her as if in the presence of a fair maiden, regardless of her lovely baby bump.

Possibly, it had to do with the overflow of womanhood spurring forth from every fiber of Daenerys’ being. Most noticeably in the swell of her bosom. Jorah had always found his Khaleesi’s _petites_ breasts absolutely irresistible. Really. To the point of making him clench his jaw and set his teeth, and have to breathe in deeply, to stop himself from just biting into them. How many times had the thought seared his mind: oh, but to devour their perkiness once and for all! Well, he _was_ a bear, wasn’t he?... But then, it just became worst. Or more wonderful. _C’est selon,_ indeed. Because during Daenerys’ first trimester, her bosom just bloomed. Blossomed into…, words failed Jorah.

He remembered lifting his eyes from a book he was reading one morning, in their bedroom, and seeing his love all dressed up and ready to start her day… with the most revealing _décolletage_ he had ever seen on her, or any woman of substance for that matter, over the lovely small roundness of her belly.

“W-wh--?... My darling wh--?”

Daenerys hadn’t let him finish his sentence. She had scooped down and stolen a kiss from his lips, and then hovered there, smiling into his eyes. That is, for whichever few seconds she was able to hold his stare to hers before Jorah’s eyes had strayed to the alabaster swell almost brushing his lips and gruff. Until her voice had called him back to her.

“Hello my love. You were saying?”

“Yes. I. This? Hum...” His fingers fluttering over her breasts, Jorah had tried to form a sentence and, unable to, had shifted his approach midway. “You’re going out, are you?”

Straightening up a bit, but still lingering about her Knight, Daenerys had just smiled, comically nodding her acquiescence, forcing Jorah to be more explicit.

“I mean, dressed like this?”

“Oh? Indeed, yes. Do you like it? It’s all the rage in King’s Landing.”

When was Daenerys _ever_ interested in fashion, or the going-ons in King’s Landing for that matter? This conversation and Daenerys’ alluring proximity were flustering Jorah to no-end.

“Is it? Really?” His voice was catching in his throat.

“You don’t like it.”

“No, I do. I do! …Though, of course, King’s Landing has a more temperate climate. A-and… and Bear Island is, is…”

“Cold.”

“Colder, yes. It’s cold.”

Jorah had sighed then, noticeably suffering through the conversation, and Daenerys had had a _very_ hard time keeping herself from laughing, peering into her Knight’s innocent blue eyes. This was really all too easy. But she was enjoying herself so tremendously, she saw no reason to relent. Without being invited to, she gently but comfortably set herself down on Jorah’s lap, who opened his arms for her, his body and his heart always welcoming his Queen there… and taking advantage of this, she went on, whispering in a hushed conspiratorial tone.

“Hum. Well, I thought of that. And so, I’m wearing…” The rest of her sentence was accompanied by gesture, her fingers trailing the rim of her cleavage, making Jorah’s eyes follow her every move. “… I’m wearing the warmest and the softest of wool petticoats. Underneath. Here. See?”

And Jorah did see. How could he not see, Daenerys’ nimble fingers brushing away the vaporous fabric spilling over the crimson outer corset of her dress to show him the soft grey lamb’s wool of her camisole and… and the generous swell of her breasts, so firm since the pregnancy, and then one of her pink buds, just dying to peek out and play.

“Would you like to touch?”

“Daenerys…” _Oh how Jorah’s voice came out raspy…_ “Luv, I…” _And decadently chocolatey and low._ “Are you sure… Are you sure it’s enough to keep you warm?” _And suffering._

Much like the hardness of him pushing from under her skirt for some attention.

“Well, maybe not. Maybe I’ll need a bear’s fur to keep me toasty.”

The laugher in Daenerys’ eyes finally found its way to her lips, curling into a true smile, and making Jorah moan his relief at having been set up. His own eyes twinkled finally, and his arms closed in on his sweet tormentor when next she whispered, very close to him: “I can feel your breath on my skin, so warm, my darling, and already I’m all a-tingling.”

And it was true, Jorah’s breath made the porcelain of her bosom shimmer with gooseflesh. His lips were so, so close to her swollen bud, she could feel the gruff of his beard tickle her skin, and all he would have to do…

Gods! Daenerys’ breath caught in her throat when Jorah’s tongue darted out to lick and wet her nipple. And again, when his soft lips closed in on the fullness of her raised aureole with a deep sexy growl!

“Oh Jorah, what took you so long?”

Needless to say, the Queen was late for whatever errands she had planned for that morn’. And Jorah volunteered to go into town himself, tucking his satiated Khaleesi under the soft plushness of their bed covers and making her promise she’d let him in upon his return.

“You’ll be a frozen bear then, won’t you?”

“Yes, cold and miserable.”

“And you’ll need cuddling?”

“Yes, and many kisses.”

“Hum…” She had closed her eyes then, under Jorah’s smiling face and, swallowing a soft yawn, had regally concluded: “I stan’ one hungry bear.”

Could he love her more? Of course not.

The playfulness of her, the lusciousness of her, Gods! The felicity seeping from every pore of her body, it was simply contagious!

And so, between the overflowing of her feminine attributes and the iridescence of her happiness, Daenerys had blossomed into this, this magnetic force, all womanhood, and no one was immune to it. Including their guests. Their male guests. Rich merchants they needed to entertain to secure commercial deals that would benefit their people on the Island; distant cousins come to pay their respects, having heard of the returned Lord of Bear Island’s nuptials to a Targaryen heir, a Queen who had relinquished the Iron Throne no less… and knights, errand knights Daenerys could not turn away and who courted her with songs.

She was so beautiful then. So perfectly in her element bequeathing her grace and wit and generosity. _Her gentle heart._ It made Jorah smile, seeing the effect she had on their guests; it made him stand tall and it made him feel proud… until all this attention zeroing in on Daenerys made him feel a bit, shall we say, proprietary. The air would shift, then, in the Great Hall, because somehow, this formidable golden bear’s pheromones would weave an impenetrable tapestry round the Queen, and the men would very subtly fall back.

Daenerys’ smiles to Jorah were never more knowing than in these instances.

“What?”, his voice would boom, even as he tried to whisper.

“Jorah, you know very well ‘what’…”

They would smile in each other’s eyes, sitting at the banquet table, exchanging a few intimate words.

“Truly, I do not.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Excuse me? I am most certainly not!”

A few minutes later, walking side by side towards the conservatory, their guests in tow, the conversation would resume where they left it off.

“You are, Jorah. You’re feeling insecure, my bear, which…”

“I most strongly object to…”

And as they would Godspeed their guests away, Daenerys would simply raise her eyes to Jorah, smiling, and…

“I am not, Daenerys! I. am. not. jealous!”

But a few minutes later, in their bedroom, as Jorah would all at once feverishly disrobe his love and sweep her off her feet to lay her in their bed:

“I am. I am jealous. I could have ripped their throats open. I don’t know what’s come over me…”

To which Daenerys would laugh out loud, making her bear laugh too, but more softly, the deep velvety rumble of his laughter enveloping her until she’d much prefer sighing upon his intimate kisses, those only a bear so versed in the arts of harvesting honey could bestow on her with such perfection. Jorah knew this of course, and he prided himself in pleasuring her in this way. It’s how he got the last word out of their little jousts and Daenerys didn’t have the heart to tease this win away from him when, after making her climax so beautifully, he’d smile one of his rare cocky smiles, while licking her opalescence from his lips. He was such the happy bear then, Daenerys would fall in love with him all over again, and call him to her, to sigh her contentment on his lips.

***

The second trimester was really no different, especially given Daenerys’ predilection for riding. Riding Jorah into the night, or at dawn, or whenever the fancy struck her, really, the position freeing her body and gifting her golden bear with an unparalleled view of her generous charms. So, if he was on hand when Daenerys felt the _gourmandise_ strike her, this bear was not safe!

Especially in the morn’ when his manhood awoke before him, and his state of arousal could not be hidden from his lovely pregnant wife. He was sure then to be brought out of slumber by a velvety caress, and a lovely purr in his ear.

“Honey-bunny bear?”

Jorah could not resist Daenerys then, even if she made him blush profusely by licking her plump juicy lips before treating herself to his gorged and gorgeous manhood.

Of course, Jorah had heard of strange urges in pregnant women. _But this!_

Still, he was curious. In town, where he’d stopped for warm ale after overseeing the unloading of goods in the harbor, or after helping out with his carpenters to rebuild homes after a sea storm, the Lord of Bear Island would overhear the men talk. One night in particular…

“Who has heard of strawberries ever growin’ on Bear Island during the Long Night?”

The man speaking was a formidable looking red-bearded giant.

“Oh shite!”, his smaller friend complained, as if on cue.

“Yer seein’ me comin’?”

“That, I am.”

His voice booming to the rest of the gallery, the giant continued: “So, I’m desperate to wiggle me self out of that fools’ errand, don’t ya know? And so’s I ask her, all sweet like: ‘Will you settle for dried cranberries, luv,’ I ask her. Oy!...”

The men moaned around him, in support.

“It’s all your fault I’m in this sorry state,” she wails at me, “you find me strawberries! NOW!’”

“Seven hells, did ya?”

“Do I look like I have? I’m here, hiding out with the lot of you!”

The men guffawed then… and Jorah had to smile, lowering his eyes to the bock in his hand, not so sure he could recognize himself in this father-to-be. Though his second serving of ale might help…

“Oh! I have that beat,” a very drunk fisherman interjected, “I can tell when mine is preggers when she has me decanter these weird green _whatyoumaycall_ them veggies…”

“Cucumbers?”

“YES, those. She has them macerating in vinegar, it’s the strangest thing.” A shiver ran through him before adding: “She’s not from here abouts...”

“Clearly.”

“So, she makes me get those from the reserve, see… and, and get this, then she orders me to fetch the cream she’s churned and is keeping frozen outside.”

“Frozen cream?”

“Aye, _iced cream_ , she calls it.” He became very serious suddenly. “She flavors it with vanilla beans, too.”

Impressed, the men looked at each other until one of them whispered: “Actually, that doesn’t sound half bad.”

“But,” the fisherman resumed, his voice booming, “she eats it with the _vinegared cucumbers,_ mate!!!”

Disgusted laughter greeted the flourished ending until one of the men at the bar turned to Jorah and surprised him by addressing him in earnest, a hand on his shoulder, in effect keeping himself from falling flat on his face.

“We hear the Lady is with child, M’Lord!”

“And a thousand blessings on yer House for that, Ser!” added his friend, before the whole congregation of drunken hardworking men chimed in: “Here! Here!”

“Ser. You _must_ tell us, man to men…”

Oh Gods. Jorah nodded patiently then, waiting for the dreaded question to come out while also trying to steer his face away from the stench of his companion’s breath.

“Does the Wife have strange yearnings?”

“Oh… _bof_ …” In his mind’s eye, Jorah saw his lovely pregnant Dany pounce on him.

Perceiving Jorah’s discomfort, the fisherman gave his shoulder a manly squeeze, his expression one of deep (but still drunken) empathy: “You can tell us. We’re here for ya, M’Lord.”

“That we are!” the chorus added.

The warm ale was surely beginning to cloud Jorah’s judgement because he felt compelled to say something.

“Well, I wouldn’t call them ‘strange’, per se…” _More lovely pouncing and delicious kissing._

“No, of course not, M’lord, she being a Queen and such…”

“Yes, indeed, but…” Jorah hesitated, “As you good men know, my wife, and your Lady, has fire in her blood…” _To say the least._

“Aye, aye… the _Mother of Dragons_ …” The title was whispered in awe and echoed in the men’s hushed tones around the bar.

“And so, she… we… she has these urges to…” _He is not going to come out with it, will he_? “These urges to ride…”

“OH. SEVEN. HELLS. How dangerous! Tell us you do not let her, M’Lord!”

“I shouldn’t?” _Oh Gods._

“It being so dangerous for the babe!”

“It is?” _What had he been thinking of?_

“Of course, it’s dangerous! While with child?!... RIDING HER DRAGONS?”

 _Oh, for crying out loud:_ Jorah closed his eyes, relieved.

“You must be firm, Ser. You must put a stop to this. At all cost. Not safe.”

“Especially not…” That warning belonged to the big red-bearded man, the strawberry man, turning Jorah towards him and bearing down on him. And as he leaned closer, his eyes peering into Jorah’s, our Knight felt the man see through him as he weighed on each of his words: “Especially not if the dragon she is riding is BIG and STRONG. _A well hung male._ THAT, that can be VERY dangerous for the babe.”

Jorah somehow sobered up in an instant and cursed himself all the way back to the Keep.

Yet…

“Silly bear!”

Those were Daenerys’ tender chiding words to him when he finally confessed to the reason why he was desperately trying to shy away from her embrace that night.

“Unless what you’re _really_ trying to tell me is that you do not find me desirable anymore as I’ve grown in my state?”

“What? No! Gods, no! Daenerys, I find you, I find you absolutely… scrumptious.”

That made his Queen laugh out loud and he, smile in turn.

“It’s true. If I could, I would eat you up.”

“Well, you often do.”

“Dany! I’m serious…. About the other thing too…. Khaleesi, my love, what if, what if I hurt the baby?”

There was real concern in her Knight’s blue eyes, as he cupped her cheek in his large hand.

“Oh! my sweet, sweet Ser. How can you be such a formidable warrior, and a learned Knight, and walk about with a heart this candid?”

Maybe all Northerners _knew nothing_ …

Daenerys kissed her husband then, tenderly, before moving over his limbs, inciting his body to recline on their plush pillows, his mouth more hungrily kissing her as she pressed him down. Their bodies simply knew how to connect, their dallying unparalleled, and Jorah didn’t stop his Queen from taking him in, slowly, deliciously, sighs of contentment seeping through their kiss. When next Daenerys felt the urge to moan in pleasure, she left Jorah’s mouth and gruff to straighten herself and let her head fall back, her beautiful silver mane brushing his naked thighs and her body undulating over his, already lost to seductive wantonness. Her Knight’s hands then slipped under the vaporous garment covering her naked form to hold her hips. Her robe was only tied by a silky ribbon whose little bow was shimmering between her ample breasts. She was so completely offered to his gaze, it drove him mad with barely contained lust. And Daenerys felt it, in her secret folds, that sword of his hardening even more as her hands trailed the completely transparent peach colored fabric of her negligee to brush her nipples, hardening like candy.

“Daenerys, you’re so beautiful…” Jorah’s whisper reached his love and she smiled through her moans, her eyes still closed, enjoying the ride and her husband’s loving thrusts, until she peered down on him, smiling, and panting.

“See, my love? You instinctively know how to take me without hurting the babe…”

And it was true, though Jorah had not consciously observed it, he had indeed learned to modulate his thrusts and he had become even more attuned to his wife’s subtle commands, following her rhythms more precisely. And her hunger. As if on cue, one of his hands left her rolling hips to caress her belly shimmering like a full moon between the open folds of her robe. How soft the taut skin over the womb holding their sleeping child. How wonderous too, like her arresting beauty and luminescence as she glowed in the light of night, heaving, and calling more caresses to her. Abiding the silent call, Jorah let his hand move up, over her breast, his fingers teasing the bud over the fabric; in fact, using it to exacerbate the friction of his caress and making his love moan for more.

Daenerys had always, always loved Jorah’s touch but, pregnant, it was as if every nerve ending of her body had become even more sensitive. She could come faster than a man and Jorah had to smile at how responsive his little dragon could be. She was all woman, she was a true Goddess, and she was his. Completely. Jorah could not have said which fueled his desire more, the emotion he felt serving this otherworldly being in his arms or the unspeakable raw sense of feral possessiveness he felt for her. Both made his cock throb and get even harder as he gave and took pleasure from his pregnant Queen who, right now, was presenting him with her bosom, having let her sheer robe fall from her shoulders. Holding herself over her knight, her arms pushing on his shoulders, her breasts completely offered to his hands and mouth, she whimpered with every flick of his tongue over her raspberry nipples, her sex clenching on that impossibly hard cock of his. She was cresting so beautifully, Jorah could sense the accelerating pulse of her secret folds around him, and she moaned her release not a second too soon for he could barely hold off his, so in lust was he with the creaminess of her core and that slick, slick music it made on his thrusting manhood.

How could their dallying still be getting more wonderous with time?

After that night, Jorah never doubted the virtue of their lovemaking, even in Daenerys’ state, and he didn’t let fear constrict his soul again.

Except once when, by his fault, he had worried Daenerys so, he was sure she would never forgive him.

That fateful day, he had joined his men in their attempts to rescue the crew of a shipwrecked vessel along their coast, while a terrible winter storm was raging. And Daenerys had insisted in overseeing the efforts of their household, at the Keep, as it prepared to welcome the injured and frozen men, along with their rescued livestock.

That was something else pregnancy had turned her into: an even more formidably energetic woman. She had acquired the legendary strength of Bear Island Men whom, as everyone knew, had the stamina of 10 Mainlanders. Daenerys had this too now, in spades. And so, for a while, her mind and body focusing on managing all the comings and goings in the Great Hall and the interior courtyard, she didn’t fret, and she didn’t worry about Jorah. But when his men began to fall in, the rescue effort over, she began to wonder what was keeping him. The soldiers and fishermen’s testimonies were contradictory. Some tried to make her believe he was safe but held up portside, while others couldn’t hide from her that he had been the first one in the water and was still perusing the surf and shoals in his rescue boat in search of remaining survivors.

Irri, Daenerys’ loyal handmaiden, tried to persuade her Khaleesi to retire to her bedchambers, to rest a while as the Hand of his Lordship was bound to come fetch her upon Jorah’s return, but Daenerys wouldn’t hear of it. She busied herself nursing the rescued men in the Great Hall. Yet fear grew and gnawed at her with each passing minute. That is, until a clamor and cheers finally echoed their way to her and, raising herself from some bedside, she saw _him_. She saw her brave handsome foolish bear enter the Great Hall holding the body of a young boy, a ships’ boy, no more than 10, the last one missing from the shipwreck, and saved from the cold hands of death by Jorah himself. Seeing each other from across the room, Jorah, covered in ice, his wet crystallized garment crackling with his every move, beamed in the direction of his wife, but she didn’t smile back at him. Her own appearance in disarray, hot tears spiking her eyes, Jorah saw from afar how relief gave way to anger on Daenerys’ beautiful features, contorting her face with pain, before she turned away and fled from the room.

When Jorah caught up with his wife, she had already reached their chambers and she was walking back and forth like a caged animal, wringing her hands.

“Daenerys…” Jorah couldn’t have looked more confused and worried as he stood there, a wet sorry bear, even without his outer garments, discarded in the Hall.

“How could you?!” was the greeting he received.

Daenerys charging him, Jorah had to take a step back, grabbing both his love’s wrists as she tried to strike his torso with her clenched fists.

“Dany, I saved him. A boy, my love, who would have drowned…”

“And what about OUR child, Jorah? Who shall save it if danger comes but you have lost your life in some foolish act of bravery? What about, what about _me_ …” Daenerys knew she was being selfish. She knew she’d feel shame in a second, but she didn’t care. She had to tell him; she was entitled. She loved him so…

“Oh Daenerys…” Jorah took his shivering wife in his arms then, cradling her as the tears finally came. He let her pound his chest too, her blows weakening as his embrace calmed her, like the kisses he bestowed upon her head, his own face wincing with emotion, and comprehension.

“I won’t die, Daenerys, I can’t. I’m sworn to you, and our child. I will protect her, and you, forever.” He cupped his Queen’s face in his cold hand, her feverish skin warming his own, and he let his voice drop, the gravitas sending warm currents all through Daenerys’ body: “Death shall have no dominion over me, Khaleesi.”

 _What was he saying?_ He made no sense, no one was immune to death, Daenerys knew this and yet, looking up at Jorah, she believed him. He had this power over her. The Gods forgive her, she believed him, and her lips told him so when next she kissed him, ravenously.

They never made love this passionately, this desperately, as if the very act was meant to defy death. It was The Battle of Winterfell anew, where they had fought as one and won the night, and here again they played out this formidable coming together of their souls as they embraced each other against their bed by the roaring fire, casting beautiful and ominous shadows, their feral dalliance warming the very room. Aroused, Jorah was trying very hard to remain tender; he couldn’t brush aside Daenerys’ state. But a formidable discharge of adrenaline made his dragon love draw blood from his lips as she bit him there, her arms clinging to him, and her caresses anything but modest on his powerful body. There was nothing weak or fragile about her, and it provoked and confused Jorah. Daenerys could have been a Red Priestess then, drawing her strength from her Knight, yet also bequeathing him her own lifeforce in return. Jorah felt it, looking intently in Daenerys’ incandescent eyes, and drinking her moans, while kissing her deeply, his hands all about her, ripping the fabric from her skin, before he even knew what he was doing, and pressing his throbbing manhood against her burning flesh. Yet he couldn’t dare the ravishment he craved, and which Daenerys was clearly asking for. This was madness, this feeling of sensing himself on the verge of losing his countenance to passion, and he heard his strained voice call to his love. Just her name, whispered hotly like a secret prayer, fear and desire constricting his throat. She answered similarly but her voice showed no hesitation. She knew what to do.

“Let me, my love. Just follow me…”

Daenerys swiveled in Jorah’s embrace and wrapped his arms about her, inviting his hands over her heaving breasts while her own slid on his beautiful cock, as it pressed on her rump, to guide it where her burning opalescence could anoint him. She made Jorah take her like this, against their bed, all the while whispering lovingly, reassuringly, next to his ear, her face turned towards his, in the crook of his shoulder, and her hand slipping through the ginger curls at the base of his neck.

“Follow me, my love, like so. Yes, Gods yes…”

“Daenerys, I….”

“It’s OK, you’re not hurting me…”

“Luv, I… I want, I need to…”

Daenerys instinctively understood the urge which Jorah was fighting, the urge to take her as the bear, with wild passion, as he used to sometimes, on her bequest, before the pregnancy. She loved sensing how feral his desire for her still held true, that deep rumble emanating from his chest where his heart pounded so. It made her crest and she guided Jorah to crest with her, deflecting his pulsion to ram by making him close one hand possessively round her firm breast, and then, brushing aside her silver mane, presenting him with her naked shoulder and neck, in a clear invitation to bite her there, to mark her. Which he did, grunting beautifully, as her hands grabbed his hips to control the cadence and depth of his thrusts, behind her. It slowed him, it made him feel her all the more, and she, him, in return, until, united as one, they both let themselves shatter for each other. Oh, how delicious their throbbing, and moving their panting, before they found their senses again… the whole battle lasting but just a few seconds, which to them was worth an eternity. They dropped to their bed then, exhausted and amazed as they found each other once more face to face, their foreheads pressing to each other, their kisses soft and drunken with stupor.

Their love was like no other.

“Daenerys… Daenerys? Luv, speak to me, are you alright?”

Jorah’s voice was reaching her from afar, so satiated and drowsy was she suddenly. Her husband had gently brought her in the very center of their bed, this incredibly warm and cozy nest where she felt secure, enfolded in her lover’s arms. She found the strength to open her eyes, and tears weld up, seeing her Knight’s blue irises so concerned, and almost contrite. Quickly, she needed to unfurrow his brow and reassure him, so she smiled and lifted her hand to caress the gruff of Jorah’s cheek and the softness of his lips with the tip of her fingers.

“I am. I am my darling. I’m sorry I struck you, I’m sorry I said those shameful things, I’m sorry I scared you… making you make love to me like this.”

‘No, don’t say that!” Jorah took Daenerys’ hand then and kissed it fervently. “I love you Daenerys, you are mine, and you are… my very own beautiful and formidable dragon.”

A smile illuminated Jorah’s features on these words, and a blush redden his cheeks, while the epithet made Daenerys laugh softly. “Aye, I seem to be that, don’t I?”

Smiling too, Jorah simply nodded then, kissing the tip of his Khaleesi’s fingers, before bending down closer to take her lips delicately. And then settling the whole of his tall frame next to his love, under the covers, his hand, so warm now, came to rest and caress Daenerys’ belly in a protective way.

“Jorah?”

“Hum…”

“You said “she”, before, when you swore to protect the baby.”

“To protect _you_ and our child, yes. Forever.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

“Oh…”

The rest of the answer not being forthcoming, Daenerys raised her eyes to Jorah and caught him smiling a bit sheepishly, her inquisitive glance forcing him to come out with his secret.

“Well, it’s not so much that I _know_ it’s a girl. It’s that I _wish_ it to be.”

“Really? Why?” More than the actual conversation, it was Jorah’s bashful expression that was intriguing, and amusing Daenerys. Fully awake now, she raised herself on one elbow, to better look at her Knight, waiting for his answer.

“I…” Jorah laughed then, softly. “You’ll think me terrible. I want… I want a whole slew of adoring little princesses! I want to teach them songs, and I want to make them dance, and I want to pick flowers for them and their mother, and…”

The more Jorah spoke and revealed his secret wish, the more Daenerys’ could only look at him with wonderment. Could her Knight be more romantic?

“… and, of course, I want to terrorize the young men who’ll dare come court them and…”

“Jorah Mormont, you want your very own harem, admit it!”

“I do? Oh!” Jorah paused then, as if experiencing a life-altering epiphany. “By the Gods, I do. That is EXACTLY what I want…”

“Oh! Jo-rah!” Daenerys laughed out loud, and so did her bear who came to kiss her again, until she cooed in his arms.

***

Oh! How she cooed in his arms…

Jorah was holding Daenerys close to him as they were both reclining on the day bed gracing their conservatory.

Upon her arrival at the Keep, Daenerys had set up this inviting plushy bed under the lemon trees she had always dreamed of owning. The trees were thriving in their greenhouse while the long winter was still holding Westeros in its grip, and Daenerys loved to spend her newfound leisure time under their canopy. Not that she rested much, even in the last trimester of her pregnancy. She had not relented her work as Intendent of their estate and she was still very much in possession of so much energy, Jorah and the whole household could only marvel at their Mistress. Just this morning, Daenerys had been pruning her trees once more. Up on a ladder. Which made Jorah stop in his track when he saw her, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his spine. Yet, he didn’t call after Daenerys. No, he knew better. He breathed deeply and hid his concern. But he most definitely walked briskly to his Queen until he stood under her; that is, under her hard-at-work little frame with the ripest of baby bump.

“Daenerys?” Jorah was trying very hard to keep the irritation from his voice.

“Oh! there you are! Hand me the little sickle, will you?”

He hesitated a second, then complied, already annoyed at himself for caving in. The next second, Daenerys’ was calling to him once more.

“Catch!”

Lemons dropped from over his head and Jorah caught them a bit clumsily but just in the nick of time. A victory not savored for long because the next second, seeing his love teetering from the ladder, Jorah let the fruits drop to catch Daenerys in his arms. _Wouf!_

She laughed then, seemingly unconcerned, and kissed Jorah’s scowling expression.

“I love how you’re always there when I most need you!... Oh! My lemons. You dropped them…”

Disengaging herself from Jorah’s arms, Daenerys didn’t see her husband roll his eyes as she bent down to pick up her little harvest… but she did feel his arms again, and looked up in his concerned eyes, when she let out a soft yelp, having strained her back a little. His voice was firm then.

“OK, that’s it. Darling? Enough! Sit! Now. And give me the lemons.”

Jorah sighed, looking into Daenerys’ amused little puss as she complied while peering back at him, not at all feeling guilty. She spoke first.

“You’re angry with me.”

“No, I’m not angry, Daenerys.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not, I just wish you’d…”

“Jorah?... You _are_ angry. I can tell.”

Jorah’s shoulders slumped. He could never win at this game. He let her speak again.

“Come here. Sit with me.”

And so, Jorah did, squeezing himself between the day bed’s pillows and his very pregnant silver dragon. Being so close to her, feeling her recline on his frame and sigh contentedly, Jorah felt whatever irritation he was still harboring leave him. And, if truth be told, he could never remain angry for very long. And, anyway, he wasn’t _angry_ , he was worried. And not even that, either. No, actually, he was nervous. The end was nearing, and he had never given birth. Not that it was _he_ who would give birth, it’s not what he meant, but…

“Oh!”

Daenerys’ little whimper brought Jorah back. “What? Are you hurt?”

“No, hush, give me your hand…” He did… and he smiled as soon as he understood what she meant to do. He loved these encounters.

Jorah felt his daughter kick under his palm.

He whispered then, lovingly, in Daenerys’ ear: “Khaleesi…”

Daenerys smiled, her skin tingling from Jorah’s warm breath on her skin. She turned her head to his for a kiss, which he obliged until, with a sigh, he did risk a few words of concern: “Are you quite sure you must absolutely busy yourself all day long while waiting for our little… dragon to come out?”

“I am Jorah. I can’t stay put. I know it’s driving you crazy, and I’m sorry, but it’s just the way it is, and I don’t know why...”

“But… the ladder. Or moving furniture about. Or cleaning the floors on your knees. Is _that_ necessary?”

Daenerys didn’t know what to say. She shrugged sheepishly, looking adorable, and so Jorah relented once more, kissing her tenderly. Until a little whimper of pain left her lips.

“It’s my back, Jorah. You know how it tugs sometimes?”

“Hum-hum.” Yes, he did know about that little discomfort, and he knew just what Daenerys relished as remedy. He smiled at her, knowingly, and she bit her bottom lip, stealing Jorah’s heart. He had to ask then.

“Here, my darling? Are you sure? Someone could come.”

“Oh, my honey-bunny bear. I’ll be quick.”

That made Jorah laugh, his beautiful velvety rumble of a laugh, and it made her love him even more. Especially when he pulled her to his chest, setting her back comfortably to his frame, to better whisper naughtily next to her skin: “Well, not _too_ quick, I hope. I love it so, Khaleesi, when you coo…” A trail of kisses began to rhyme Jorah’s tender whispers. “…and whimper… and moan… in my arms… when I touch you.”

It was the simple truth. There was nothing as magical as an orgasm to alleviate Daenerys’ late pregnancy back pains. And Jorah provided her time and again with those very gifts, relishing playing conductor to the orchestration of his Queen’s prescription and pleasure. He had magic fingers. She called him, knowingly, her very own private Maester.

Sometimes, when he held Daenerys like this, looking at her truly abandoned in his arms, trusting him with not only the most intimate needs of her body, but those of her soul, Jorah could feel himself being moved beyond words and, today, he could barely breathe gazing down on her upturned face and rosy cheeks, while he caressed her under the folds of her robe. He was about to kiss her when an otherworldly sound from above made him look up: a sheet of ice was crackling over the transparent paneled ceiling of their conservatory, and he had to blink seeing it melting so rapidly while casting little rainbows all about them as the sun rays hit the prism-like crystal used for their roof. He could swear it was Daenerys’ whimpers of pleasure that irradiated the room. His eyes fell back to his Goddess then, and he smiled as he saw her hand slip under her belly to put more pressure on his, where he was caressing her luscious pearl. She was close to release and Jorah swallowed hard. He never wanted to forget this moment. The rainbows playing on her white garment, her porcelain skin and silver mane while her cheeks were getting rosier as she moaned his name, climaxing. He loved her so absolutely… He kissed her then, sealing his lips on hers, while greeting the lovely pulse of rapture her pearl and secret core gifted his honeyed fingers.

***

The last time Daenerys and Jorah were to constitute a finite entity, just the two of them in their perfect bubble, the Queen brought her Knight back into their conservatory, to sleep under their lemon trees. It had become her favorite refuge and Jorah sighed with ease feeling his love falling asleep in his arms. Daenerys was late delivering, and the wait had begun to weigh on her. Also, given the amplitude of her state, comfort seemed to elude her.

“Except if you spoon me.”

And given their tol & smol dynamics, Jorah could still pull it off. In fact, he loved it. It made him feel like a Knight all anew, and suddenly he thought of that terrible time in the Red Waste when he wasn’t able to prevent Daenerys from losing Drogo’s child. He had stood vigil by her bedside after her miscarriage, wishing so ardently he could have taken her suffering away. He loved her so already but, back then, he couldn’t protect her the way he did now. The way he would have wished. The way a husband would have. The way she was now letting him.

For some reason, Jorah felt his eyes well up with tears and, though he was not in the habit of praying, because he served only one Goddess really, he did close his eyes to give thanks, in this perfect instant, to all the Gods, old and new, for having let them, Daenerys and he, come together after all the hardships and wars and tragedies. He would never abandon her; he would always remain true.

When next Jorah opened his eyes, blossoms from the lemon trees were gently falling on Daenerys’ form in his arms, a phantom breeze having somehow blown the flowers free in the moonlight. He kissed his Khaleesi’s head then, her mane and skin smelling of these delicate blossoms. His hand went caressing her arm before moving to her womb, his large hand protecting her there, she and their child, and only then was he able to fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, sighs stirred in the air. Unbeknownst to their waking selves, Jorah and Daenerys’ bodies had begun dallying, the eternal thirst and dance between them proving as natural to them, it seemed, as breathing. But there was something else in the air, something magical, too powerful and alluring to ignore.

“Jorah, please…”

Awakening completely to the sound of his Khaleesi’s voice, Jorah realized that both their bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, perfumed and sweet, and that his manhood, completely erect, was brushing languorously back and forth against the creamy core of his love, as he spooned her back still, her secret lips swollen with lust and her hands massaging his crown as she pressed it against her pearl, the head peeking through her thighs.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t stop my darling. You know I won’t. I’m here.”

Jorah found himself, not only caressing his Queen, delicately, completely enthralled by the silkiness of her skin, but also letting subterranean currents course through his body and harden his manhood against her honeyed lips and pearl. Just brushing there. Alighting her, and him. And wishing this moment never to stop. And so, Jorah’s arms held his love tenderly, trailing down to her womb as if securing their daughter in her nacelle, preparing the way. Preparing Daenerys’ body for the age-old ritual about to occur while making love to her.

“Jorah…”

“Khaleesi…”

Undulating together, pulsating together, Daenerys and Jorah suddenly looked simultaneously to the heavens when a burst of light surprised them. They saw it then: a comet, bright orange, cutting through the night sky, and then, underneath, the snow and all the remaining ice covering the crystal ceiling of their haven melting away. It stole their breath away just as pleasure seized them. Daenerys arched her back, welcoming her release as she milked that of her Knight, his breath wavering and warming her skin, his lips forming her name, like a sacred prayer. Daenerys moaned out loud feeling Jorah throb between her hands, his liquid pearls fountaining through her fingers and blessing her skin and belly… come suddenly alive with its first contractions.

***

Jorah and Daenerys’ daughter, Beltainia, was born under the comet that signaled the end of the Long Night. It was to be the stuff of legend and Jorah, for one, knew its source to be true: it was his Queen and Khaleesi that brought back the Summer Days. If some had thought the prophecy of Fire and Ice to be about whom would get to sit on the Iron Throne, they were greatly mistaken. Daenerys had relinquished nothing by refusing the siege of power in King’s Landing. Rather, she had been fated to come to Westeros to vanquish Winter, to vanquish Death itself, and she did so by her indominable spirit, her gentle heart, the very essence of her womanhood, and the love they shared, and which beget their daughter.

The first visitors who came to greet Beltainia into the world understood this too. Lady Olenna, Sansa Stark and Daenerys’ dearest friend, Missendei of Narth, all followed the comet to Bear Island. They just knew to come without a raven telling them. A surprising trio to be sure though the Lady of Highgarden had never ceased to correspond with Daenerys, regaling her with her wit and gossip, while the Queen in the North had long learned to trust Daenerys and counted on Jorah for counsel, and Missandei… Oh! Missendei! Such tears of joy, her coming all the way from the Isle of Narth brought to Daenerys, while her Knight almost crushed their faraway visitor in the greatest of bear hugs!

These unique, beautiful godmothers brought gifts and their blessing and their love. Powerful Magi to be sure, making Daenerys’ heart smile and her spirit soar ensconced in her bear’s arms and holding their child to her bosom. Together they gave the child her name, Beltainia, after Beltain, the Festival of Fire, in homage to the flames coursing through her veins and the coming of Summer she brought back.

Beltainia, being quite the little dragon indeed, let her desires be known presently. Her wailing interrupted the women’s chattering, until her papa took her in his arms. His deep voice and the warmth of his arms soothed her back to sleep as if by magic, impressing the Ladies, but not his smiling wife who knew his charms too well.

“Ser Jorah, maybe I should send you not only our young Winterfell men to train in combat but our mothers-to-be!” exclaimed Sansa. “You could teach them a thing or two.”

“Oh yes, my husband is learnt in many arts…” Daenerys’ remark made the women laugh and Jorah glared at her, but not in earnest, too happy to sing to his daughter to take the bait.

“He is though, my Queen,” Missandei still cherishing Daenerys’ title, “I know Ser Jorah to be the most patient and generous of teachers. You can ask Grey!” The compliment made the proud Knight bow slightly in her direction and wink to his wife, until Lady Olenna got the last word.

“Yes, I can see it from here: Spend the Long Summer on Bear Island where seminars in the science of war and love are forever held, under the helm of one Lord Bear too wrapped up around his wife and daughter’s little fingers to notice wards mixing up their apprenticeships!... Oh yes, please do glower at me, Jorah, it’s making me all a-quiver…”

Exchanging glances with Missandei and Sansa, while Jorah now turned his back to Olenna, still singing and cooing to his daughter, Daenerys pursed her lips not to laugh before the formidable Olenna closed with a flourish.

“Though come to think of it, I for one, would love to see diplomas bequeathed to banshee mothers and soldiers chanting ‘make love, not war’!”

“Oh yes, _make love not war_. That is indeed a worthy pursuit, do you agree, my love?”

Only then did Jorah interrupt his lullaby to turn towards his wife… with the most radiant of smiles on his lips before snuggling his nose to Beltainia’s little cheek.

***

**Author's Note:**

> \- Special thanks to Houseofthebear who found which gaelic name to bestow on Daenerys' and Jorah's daughter !
> 
> \- For some reason, I kept feeling influenced, in my banter, by the comic rhythms of Kiss me Kate (1953) and Much Ado About Nothing (1993), two very different productions... which I've not seen in years, so go figure ! But it explains, in part, why Jorah is a bit more chatty than we usually know him to be. And Daenerys quick to laugh. The other reason for this being that THEY'RE HAPPY. A state GoT rarely permitted them, ergo the few liberties I took in my writing and my gift to them.


End file.
